


The Unburied Ones

by startwithsparks



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Biting, Blood, F/M, Future Fic, Incest, Light Dom/sub, Mindfuck, Warging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 08:40:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startwithsparks/pseuds/startwithsparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surrounded by the darkness of Winterfell's crypts is where they find each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unburied Ones

The heavy ironwood door creaked on its hinges as Arya pulled it open, descending silently down the winding staircase into Winterfell's crypts. She came unarmed with either torch or defense, leaving even her shoes and cloak in a pile on the ground outside. Still, the soft leather of her trousers swished faintly against her legs as she took the steps carefully, one at a time. Once she had been able to boast that she knew the crypts of Winterfell as well as any other part of the ground, but they had been hastily rebuilt after the sacking and now the steps were broken and uneven and where once there was a familiar hand-hold or recess in the stone, there was now little more than jagged rock.

Staring into the blackness of the crypt, she felt as if she were blind again, and Arya forced herself to still her other senses and take in every smell, every small movement of the wind and the faint sound echoing through the vaults. _Calm as still water_ , she thought to herself and started her steady trek down the broken stone steps again. On and on she wound, one hand trailing fingertips along the wall as she counted her steps, reaching four-and-thirty before she came to the smooth, slightly slanted landing at the base. The wall gave way into the first large room of many. She stood there, as silent as a prayer, trying to feel the room around her. The faint breeze from the door at the top of the staircase tickled along the back of her neck as it slipped around her, into the heavy, musty air of the crypt, but nothing else moved. She turned, continuing down the stairs to her left to descend to the deeper levels.

If she had brought a torch with her, it would be easier to find what she was looking for, but that wasn't part of the game. She'd found him once with no more than a whisper on the breeze, and she could find him again with less than that. The further down she went, the cooler the air felt. She was heading away from the underground springs that warmed the castle, descending into rows of tombs that held the former Kings of the North. Rats and spiders made their home here, and briefly, she wondered if it would be considered cheating to slip into one of them and use their eyes instead of her own. Down here her eyes strained to find even a hint of light to lend definition to her surroundings, but in the vastness, she was left almost blind, with not even enough light to cast shadows or spare a heavy gray cast to the world.

Instead, she reached her hands out and felt for the stone around her, fingers brushing over rough columns and the knees of kings seated in their eternal watch. She skimmed over the ears of their direwolves, fingers dancing lightly on the edges of old iron swords. The further down she went, the heavier the air felt around her, and every small stirring registered on the very edge of her awareness. She could feel his warmth as she neared, deeper through the maze of tombs and effigies, and heard the slow rise and fall of his breath. The nearer she came, the more she sensed his presence, the feeling of him watching her through the darkness sending prickles along the back of her neck and arms as it stood the fine hairs on end.

When she finally reached out through the blackness, fingertips searching out for him, knowing he was close enough to touch, he reached back for her and snatched her hand in the dark. She grinned as he pulled her in, and turned towards the tomb he sat on.

"You almost put my eye out," he breathed, and she could sense the smile that formed around his words.

Her body pressed against the cold stone, the edge of which rose just below her hip, and trailed her other hand through the dark until it had found him as well. "What use are a man's eyes," she replied as she curled her fingers in his shirt, feeling the heat from his body that seeped through the thin cloth, "when he has a much powerful sight?"

He laughed softly, the sound like wind, like leaves whispering tenderly in the branches. "I suppose I don't really have to worry about bumping into things anyhow, do I?"

"How _did_ you get down here?" she murmured, tipping her head up, every part of her crawling to get closer to him.

He leaned forward, his breath brushing her cheek, along the side of her neck, "I flew."

Arya bumped her forehead against his, "You're such a liar."

His fingers, long and sharp, inched up her arms, gliding under the loose fabric of her shirt to her elbows, grasping softly and urging her forward, closer, always closer. It wasn't the fear of getting caught that drove them both under the veil of darkness, neither cared much if their trysts were discovered - they were wolves, and wolves would do what they pleased. But they had both spent their time in the void, and it was there they had found that their eyes had been opened the widest. Their bodies sang and every sense was sharper, every smell and taste cementing itself in their memory in a way they had never been able to replicate in the light. They were both creatures born of darkness, who'd tasted something that very few ever came back from. Here in the halls of death, they didn't have to explain themselves to anyone.

She leaned in until their noses touched, her eyes falling closed. "Brandon..."

His smile widened and he slid his hands out from his sleeves, sliding back into her hair instead, and cupped the back of her neck with his fingers loosely laced together. Her fingers flexed on the edge of the tomb and she pushed herself up, letting him guide her as she got one knee under her and crawled onto the smooth stone slab next to him. She slinked forward, easily maneuvering around his legs, curling her fingers against the stone beneath her hands, as he leaned back and continued to draw her forward. It wasn't much of a chase, Arya already had him pinned and he couldn't go anywhere, but it stirred something in her regardless and she leaned forward to press into a biting kiss.

He let her lead for a moment, his nails scraping gently against the skin of her neck and jaw, down the front of her throat until his hand twist in the fabric at her collar. "This is hardly fair," he breathed.

"Why?" she grinned, nipping at his jaw as she tipped her head away, "You're bigger than I am."

"They call it the _upper hand_ for a reason."

She nuzzled against his soft scruff, "You want to fight me for it?"

Bran gave her hair a playful tug, "I'd win."

"If you can take me..." she started, trailing off in a heavy sigh as his teeth sunk into her throat. Her nails scraped against the stone and her body arched towards him of its own accord. "I refuse to yield," she started once she had control of her voice again, "but if you can take me, I'll let you have me."

They both knew that Bran was a much stronger warg than she was, he had the training that she'd never bothered to seek out, but the idea of him slipping into her enticed her enough that she didn't think she'd put up more than just requisite struggle.

If Bran was unsure about her offer for even a moment, he didn't show it; he drew her in as he leaned back against the tomb, going loose and relaxed underneath her once he was safely on his back. She stretched out over him, curling and twisting her spine in preparation for him to slide into her. This wasn't like taking over another human, she thought as she felt him start to press into her and pushed back just to see if he would persist. They were too much like their wolves, too much a part of one another already. The pack had its way of keeping each other close, and so did they. He pressed in again and Arya tried to shove up a wall between them before he sunk his claws into her, but she wasn't as fast as him. It was one thing to show nothing, feel nothing, think nothing, but it was another thing entirely to keep someone else from reaching in and latching themselves on to the very part of her that defined what she was.

A nervous shudder worked its way down her spine and she arched, head thrown back and jaw clenched down tightly. She couldn't believe how strong he was, the way she could feel him pressed along her body, engulfing her. The smell of damp leaves and dirt filled her, a glimmer of white through the blackness, the metallic twinge of blood on the air as the stone beneath her hands scraped open the skin of her fingers and palms. When he finally seated himself, the damp, earthy warmth of him wrapping tightly around her and squeezing air from her lungs as she still vainly tried to fight him off, she gave him one last brief toss and then succumbed, slumping forward onto the body beneath hers.

She felt him stretching her muscles, arching her bare feet, tensing the muscles in the back of her legs and thighs until they burned and knotted, warmth curling ever deeper. As much as he overcame her body, she couldn't feel him trying to draw forward any of her thoughts, the things she kept buried deeply under the layers of darkness and her own exhaustive training, sealed away with ice and flame. It made her feel strangely safe, knowing that she never once had to draw the line or tell him where the boundaries were, that he simply knew her so thoroughly that he could draw back from those unsafe places and wash over her in a way that was exhilarating instead of terrifying.

No sooner than he got himself comfortable inside her, tugging experimentally at different nerves like strings to see how it would make her gasp and shiver around him, he started to draw himself out again. He moved slowly now, easing his way back into his own body until his fingers twitched and flexed against the inside of her wrists, curling tightly, anchoring her to him from the outside.

"Dangerous..." he murmured, pushing her hands up so she was forced to rest her weight against him, lying chest-to-chest.

She fit her legs between his, squirming restlessly against him. "Why did you stop?"

He slid his hands up her arms again, then trailed his fingertips lightly along her sides, "Because I'd rather have you like this," he answered as he hitched her shirt up under her arms.

Arya grinned, drawing back enough to let him tug the fabric over her head and crumple it next to them. The cold air prickled her skin, the ghostly draw of his fingertips along her flesh making her shiver. "Noble..." she breathed, trying to suppress another shudder as his nails scraped along her spine.

Bran chuckled, tipping his head up to beckon her down for a kiss, "I'm not sure that's the word you're looking for..."


End file.
